


RFT

by pray_for_sound



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pray_for_sound/pseuds/pray_for_sound
Summary: Armie owns the gym that Timmy goes to.





	RFT

**Author's Note:**

> who was asking for a gym au? I have like three in mind. here's one. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dedicated to how fit Armie’s been looking recently 👀

Timmy was never really one for exercise too much, he liked community sports, playing basketball with friends growing up, but he would never go to the gym or anything. Some of his college friends figured out that a local gym gave a significant discount to college students because it’s right next to the university and so they all signed up, and poked and prodded him until he agreed also. First they all went together, en mass, now Timmy’s found an odd sort of peace in it.

He loves the pull, the stretch, feeling the edge of his limits, he loves feeling the sweat drip down the side of his head, he loves being on the rower and knowing that his body is one long line of energy. He’s not so good at some of the weight lifting stuff, but he’s learning. 

His first work out there was back squats and kettle bell swings and running and he almost died, he swears, but the owner of the gym came over to him afterwards and clapped him on the shoulder, squeezed his neck a little, and Timmy cringed because he was sweaty and like who was this _dude_ really, but he’s been super welcoming since and Timmy guesses that’s just who he is. He works out with them sometimes, like just another member of the team, but he’s super fucking fit. Like Timmy watches him snatch 200 pounds like it’s nothing and he’s genuinely in awe.

The first time he sees him take his shirt off he’s in the office and Timmy just happens to be walking by at the right time to see his shoulders moving around pulling the shirt off his forearms and he’s a little sweaty from his workout and Timmy forgets where he’s walking. He’s never been a daddy kink kind of person but _fuck_ if that wasn’t the only word in his head while the way the owner’s striated traps played over and over like a .gif in his head. He had pulled it together and managed to make it to the other side of the gym without incident but it’s been challenging to work out with him ever since. And he hasn’t gotten less touchy.

Just yesterday he saw him for the first time since the holidays and is greeted by a huge smile, “Timmy! How was your break?” Armie maintains eye contact while moving towards him and then claps him on the back, his hand lingering as they circle up around the board and listen to the trainer describe the workout. 

Timmy’s a little out of shape. Too much family vacation and beach and Mac and cheese and only making it out for a casual jog once or twice a week, nothing to keep him up to what the workouts at this gym usually put someone through.

The trainer, Spencer goes over the work out which is scrawled in bad handwriting on the white board. 

“Five rounds for time. 200 meter run, 10 pushups, 15 front squats at 135 for men, 95 for women, 20 sit ups.” 

Timmy groans a little, five rounds is a fucking lot. As Spencer goes through each of the movements, breaking them down for the group and going over form, he shifts from foot to foot, sees Armie in his peripheral standing just to the side and back of him. Skims over how his biceps fit in his grey T-shirt, how his shorts hang around his thighs.

He can’t look too much or else he’ll never make it through the workout. The group breaks to begin setting up their equipment. 

Midway through the workout, Timmy’s dying from the running. It’s a small break but not really, so when he drops to the floor for the push-ups his body isn’t ready yet, he crumples to his knees for a second, gasping at the drips of sweat on the floor underneath him, he pushes up into a plank and bangs out 1, 2, 3, 4 push ups until his arms are shaking, 5, half way, 6, almost 7, he starts counting back down so he knows he’ll make it 3, 2, he lets out a groan as his arms threaten to buckle again, 1. 

He walks the long way, a circle around from where he was doing his push ups back to his bar. Sees Armie at his barbell right in front of him, watches the curve of his ass as it dips at the bottom of his squat, deep breath, tries to even out his breathing kneels down and touches his bar. Power cleans it up, two sets, Timmy, 8 and 7, two sets. Don’t drop it. He settles into a stable rhythm, still sometimes watching Armie’s ass in front of him, watches as he drops his bar to the floor and lays down to do his sit ups, 5, 6, Armie’s thick arms over his head, 7, 8. He drops his bar, shakes it out. Takes a second, and Armie gets up and jogs out the door. 

“Sicko Mode” is blasting through the gym speakers and Timmy feels his body settle in and get to work. He rips through his last seven front squats and drops to the floor, a clean set of 20 unbroken sit ups and he’s light on his feet out the door for the 200 meter jog. After this only one more round. 

He tries to get his breath. Mutters “good job” or “nice work” or “hang in there” to the people passing by him on their way back into the gym from the run. He figures most of them are on their last round even though he has a full round yet to go. 

As he jogs back into the gym, he sees others milling about or drinking water. He knows he’s going to be the last to finish and they’ll all watch him as he’s dying through his last sets, bright red and sweaty, he reaches his bar and drops to the floor to do his push ups. Bangs them out and when he stands up Armie has wandered over and is standing next to his bar drinking water. 

He crouches down to breathe and hears him say, “Come on, Timmy pick it up. Fifteen to go.”

He steels himself, although his body doesn’t feel ready, that’s not the point, he can do it. Armie’s right. He power cleans it up, feels kind of powerful instead of gross and sweaty like he felt before. Settles into the first front squat. 

Hears Armie praise him, “Good.” Settles into the next one, the next one, focusing on his rhythm, “Nice, way to knock em out.”

At nine, his thighs are burning so bad, he drops the bar, kneels down touching it, heaves for breath. “Last six, Timmy come on.”

He power cleans the weight up off the floor, his body lets him know how close to the edge he is, he knows there’s no way he would be working this hard if someone wasn’t staring at him egging him on. He settles into the first squat. It feels fine. Not so bad. 11, 12, counts backwards 3, “Niiice, Timmy, way to work” 2, his head feels light, and there’s one line of electrical energy zapping from his hip to his knee, 1. He drops the bar, drops to the floor and frantically goes into his sit ups, his body singing in the relief of the body weight exercise. 10, 15, 20. He looks at the clock 20:52, lies back, spent, sees Armie’s face come into his vision as he fights for breath, he holds his taped-up hand out. 

“Great work, Tim.” They touch sweaty hands and Timmy stays where he is on the floor not moving. 

Eventually he gets up, ignores the sweat spot he’s made on the rubber and cleans up his equipment from the work out. A few people from the class are stretching in a different area of the gym. He lifts his t-shirt up to wipe at his face as he wanders over to them and grabs a foam roller. 

He loves the aftermath. His body feels so shivery and sated, almost like he’s had really crazy sex. He laughs easier, makes easier conversation with the people in his class. Feels less awkward in his gangly body and more like it did some good work for him and he has something to be proud of. Sure, he’s nowhere near as beefy as most of the guys who work out regularly here, but he still performs the work outs and gets through the classes. 

He rolls out his legs, hamstrings first, then flops over onto his front and rolls out his quads, tries to look but not look like he’s looking to see where Armie is because he lost track of him when he finished the work out. He knows his ass is in the air as he’s rocking back and forth over the roller massaging his spent quads. His arms give out a little and he flops onto the turf laughing a little at Alex next to him who is also rolling out, groaning. 

“That was brutal,” Alex offers. 

Timmy struggles up onto his forearms and starts inching his body forward again on the foam roller. “Yeah, I maybe should have modded the front squat weight. Those were long sets.” He rolls off and sits with his knees spread on the floor. His water tastes so gloriously wet and cold. 

He looks over to the office area and catches Armie shrugging out of his shirt. Dude’s so fucking ripped. It makes Timmy’s mouth water and he feels it in his dick. He decides maybe it’s time to get going. 

 

The hot water feels so good on his upper back. Turns around and lets it wash over his face, the water salty as it runs into his mouth. He washes quickly with a bar of soap, he’s already starting to get hungry so he doesn’t want to linger in the shower.

He’s entertained cursory attractions to men before, well boys really. He never really went for the jacked guy look, but damn if he doesn’t get it now. He wasn’t even sure how old Armie was, but he was definitely older enough and bigger than him enough to qualify as a “daddy”. Armie. Armie. Armie’s ass dipping at the bottom of his squat in front of him today. Armie shirtless walking through the gym, Armie deadlifting shirtless. Armie deadlifting in compression shorts. Timmy thinks about their bodies coming close to one another and _fuck_ he’s so hard, he’s not sure when he started palming his dick, but he knows his legs won’t hold him through jerking off. Not after that work out. He rinses and shuts the water off, rubs a towel through his hair. His dick wags in front of him, full mast as he steps out of the shower. 

Timmy sits down on the toilet, making sure the bathroom door is locked. He strokes himself fast, not dwelling too long on the fact that this is going to make it harder for him to look Armie in the face from now on. He pictures him shirtless sitting at the edge of his bed. Shirtless, sitting at the edge of his bed with a hard on. Taking his dick out of his pants and pulling Timmy’s head down to suck it. Hears him, “ _yeah baby, that’s nice, fuck, you have a hot little mouth._ ” He’d suck his dick as long as he could until he needed air. Then he’d crawl up his body grab onto those shoulders, straddle his lap. _“Oh yeah? You wanna be in my lap, huh?”_ And holy shit, his dick leaks at that thought. Thinks about Armie sucking on two of his fingers and rubbing them around his hole, pulling him by his ass to the side so he can see as he angles his upright cock into Timmy’s hole. He’d press their foreheads together as Timmy sank onto his dick, groaning at the feeling straight into his face. 

Timmy has to stop to stand up because he almost comes. Thinks about bouncing on Armie’s cock. Thinks about spreading his legs wider, sitting deeper into his lap, thinks about Armie’s hands on his ass, thinks about his arm muscles as he holds him there, thinks about calling him _daddy_ as he’s speared on his dick. And then he is coming, squirting hard shots one after the other straight Into the toilet, his whole body clenched up and roaring with how fucking much that’s hitting all the right spots for him. He tugs out the last few drops, picks his towel up off the ground and rubs the tip of his dick with it. Wraps it around himself and flushes the toilet. 

Wonders how he’s going to go to the gym tomorrow. Wonders if he’ll combust when Armie touches him. Which he will. He always does.

**Author's Note:**

> am I the only one who’s super satisfied by writing about or reading writing about working out? okay. sick.


End file.
